If Ur Asking For Kinktober Requests... Dick Grayson Or Roy Harper... Maybe Playing With Some Ropes...

if ur asking for kinktober requests... dick grayson or roy harper... maybe playing with some ropes... maybe a little hate... maybe overstimulation... maybe edging... idk just throwing out ideas im feening

-🎀

dick hated when he had to be the bad guy. he hated when you’d run your mouth and be a brat, because that was just proof that you couldn’t be the good girl he knew you could be. he’s seen you on your best behavior before, so why couldn’t you just stay that way?

maybe if you could hold the title of his good girl, you wouldn’t have a rope that’s tied your hands on either side of the bed posts. maybe if you didn’t run your mouth at dinner, you wouldn’t have your own cum dripping out of your swollen cunt from fingers alone. maybe if you apologized instead of being a brat, throwing around words you didn’t mean when you got home, dick wouldn’t be sat on his knees between your legs, nasty smirk pulling at his lips as he watched you squirm with flushed cheeks.

brat taming was something dick didn’t know he had the ability to do, that is, until he met you. the man was used to women falling under his every word without a complaint or say so. that’s how it always has been. he didn’t know women had the ability to have the mouth that you did.

"two words, princess," his voice was rough and mean. have you never heard of an apology before? apparently not by the way you shake your head and refuse to meet his eye, groaning out something instead.

dick’s cock was becoming excruciatingly hard, and his own strokes of his hand weren’t cutting it. he wasn’t going to fuck you until you apologized, half-promised that to himself when he’d opened the door to his home. but, he had his own needs too.

his hands sit on either side of your torso, knees underneath your thighs as he teasingly brings his length to rub against your folds and clit. never pushing inside, but pushing himself past your entrance with help of your wet slick.

overstimulated and fucked out, you whimper and whine underneath the man. unknowing if you want his cock to fill you up or if you want nothing to do with him at all. your body can’t decide when you attempt to writhe away from him, but your pussy flutters while doing so.

"two words, fucking slut," he reminds, hot breath fanning your face. he lowers his head, pressing a rough kiss to your cheek in which you attempt to move away from. "c’mon, be my good girl. y’know i don’t like being mean to you baby."

the sweetness of his words almost make your guard fall, wanting to turn and lock your lips with his. but you don’t. instead turning your head to scrunch your brows at him and pull your lips back. "’m a good girl, you’re just dumb," you say, words ending in a whine at the feeling of dick’s tip pushing against your clit.

dick’s teeth find their way into your neck, sucking a dark purple hickey and then pulling back with his cock in hand. his eyes never leave yours as he pumps himself a few more times.

and then his tip reaches you again, only this time he pushes only the beginning of his length inside of you as you squirm and moan below him. he thinks it’s cute, the way you’re helpless until you say the two words he wants you to say.

"wanna be a slut?" he questions, letting only his tip fill your entrance. his eyes move down to watch the way your cunt’s reacting, attempting to suck it inwards despite your nasty words.

with one fluid and fast motion, he bottoms out in you. the entirety of his length filling you up and kissing the sweet spot inside of you. dick doesn’t care for the moans or whines you give. doesn’t care that your hands are balled into fists and pulling on the rope he tied tight.

"i’ll fuck you like a slut then."

Every Jason line I could find in the DLC's audio files

I’ve been obsessed with soulmate AUs recently, so here’s a little idea i’ve been playing around with:

Everyone’s born with words somewhere on their body, unreadable at first. The skin is shiny, like an old scar, the words blurry and undefined. One day, you’ll see the first words you’ll ever hear your soulmate say to you, that shiny patch of skin blooming like ink (there’s superstitions about the colour your words fade into, as popular as astrology). The trick of the thing is, you won’t find out what your words are until you’ve become the person who is meant to hear them. The youngest person to get their words was seven, and the oldest 92 years young.

You and Jason meet at school, outsiders in your own way. You, the new transfer student to Gotham Prep, and Jason the newly adopted son of Bruce Wayne. You bond over your outsider status and shared interests, fast friends in no time. The kind of best friends that tell each other almost everything, comfortable in each other’s trust. Jason tells you about his fears that one day all of this, Bruce and Alfred, the manor, school, will disappear one day (he’s very careful to talk around being Robin, it’s not only his secret after all). He listens to you when you feel homesick, worried that you’ll never feel at home again. It’s a friendship built on shared secrets, on fears assuaged, and worries made better. You’ve never met Bruce or Alfred or the rest of Jason’s family. He asks you about it once, but you simply reply you prefer having Jason to yourself. That maybe one day you’ll meet, but for now your friendship is a private thing for you two alone.

Sometimes you and Jason will speculate about what your words will be, fingers tracing featherlight over still-shiny skin. Privately you hope your words will be his. It’s so easy to fall in love with Jason. The light in his eyes when he rants about the latest book he’s read, when he shares the biscuits Alfred packs for him, the way he listens to you so intently even if he doesn’t have all the answers. You can admit to yourself that you’re hopelessly in love with your best friend, but never out loud. Your friendship is one of the most important things in your life and you are terrified of destroying it.

When Jason dies, it’s like the whole world turns to ash. You never got to tell him. He died without knowing you loved him. His death rips you open like nothing ever has before, regret a constant salt in the wound. He never told you that he was thinking of leaving. It feels wrong at this point, to interrupt his family in their grief, another stranger claiming to have known their son. After all, how well did you really know him if you didn’t even know he was going to leave? Once you emerge from the fog of your grief, you turn it into fuel. You graduate and then hurry through a degree as quickly as you can. You take a position in a charity working with underprivileged children, determined that no child will ever be afraid of being tossed aside like Jason was. You make use of your Gotham Prep connections, rubbing elbows with the rich for just as long as it takes to pry open their wallets. Occasionally you see Bruce, or Dick, or the newest ward Tim at functions, always across the room before you quickly excuse yourself. You keep yourself so busy that when your words come in, “I’m sorry, I didn’t know…”, you barely give it a thought, just pulling the cuff of your shirt lower to cover your wrist. You never bother trying to read the rest of it. It doesn’t matter anymore.

Your world ends for a second time when you catch sight of the newspaper headlines at the local newsstand. “Lost Wayne son found alive” screams out at you, tearing into your heart bloody. You lose grip of your work bag, but manage not to lose your mind in the street. You call out sick, a first for you, and in your fog somehow make it to Wayne manor. You are indescribably rude to poor Alfred, pushing right past him, almost hypnotized by the voices coming from inside. A body tries to come between you, stopping you in your tracks. Years of grief, anger, and battered hope come roaring through you at the thought of being denied seeing Jason, alive after all this time. Your voice when it leaves you is dangerously low. “Jason Todd was my best friend and first love.” The body stiffens, but that doesn’t matter in this moment. “You are going to step aside and-” anything else doesn’t matter because a door is thrown open and there is Jason. Eyes wild, a good deal older and more scarred than before, but he’s alive. And then nothing else matters but the feel of his arms warm around you, the imprint of his jacket on your face, the smell of him largely unchanged. What catches your eye is the writing at the hollow of his throat, a stark black spreading across his collarbones.

“Jason Todd was my best friend and first love.”

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t know you felt the same.”

(I’m actually so sorry, this ask ran away with me and turned into this monster, oh my god. This AU has me in a chokehold and i need to scream about it)

- 🍂 (@fic-over-cannon)

i’ve been hoarding this in my inbox for AGES because work has been so busy lately that i never seem to get enough downtime to come up with a coherent thought let alone the brain cells to read but.

tumblr user fic-over-cannon i need u to write this immediately so i can devour it. i’m such a sucker for the childhood friends to lovers with jason because it holds so much potential. and a soulmate au too!! i’m beside myself. the last few lines of this had me feeling like i was genuinely running to find him - i can just imagine the urgency and the pain that propels you forward like you might lose him all over again if you’re not fast enough this time (not unlike bruce, i’m realising)

sighing over this and weeping into my hands

stay positive 👉🏻👉🏻

simple

jason todd x gender neutral reader. 613 words.

notes:

warnings: vague descriptions of messy, yucky feelings on reader's part, including vague feelings of inadequacy.

"are you alright?"

a simple question.

theoretically a simple answer.

as you turned the question over in your mind, preparing an answer (simple question, simple answer, it could be simple) you heard him step through the doorway he was lingering in.

the sound- as quiet as it was- shook you from your muddied train of thought.

it was him. it was jason.

jason knew better than anyone it wasn't always simple.

and, just as importantly, jason- your jason- wasn't asking just to be polite.

holding onto those two points, you allowed yourself the complication and, instead of churning out an overly simplified response, you looked at him.

his brow was furrowed, but he gave you a small smile.

you attempted to return it.

given the way he moved further into the room, you weren't very successful.

he crouched next to your chair, looking up at you with soft eyes and a small frown. "what do you need?"

another simple question.

this time, you opted for the simple, honest answer. "i don't know."

his frown twisted into something of a pout, one of his hands coming up to rest on your leg and rub gentle circles into the side as he thought. "you should take a break."

"i can't." and when the simple answer wasn't enough, you continued. "i need to get this done."

it struck you, then, how something you love can also bring great frustration- his eyes, deep and thoughtful and completely focused on you, were usually one of your favorite sights on earth.

right now, they just made you feel like you were falling short somehow.

you looked away.

"okay," he said, voice calm and steady and warm in a way that you weren't sure you deserved. "can i come sit with you while you finish it?"

"if you want to."

he hummed, squeezing your leg gently as he stood up. "do you want anything while i'm up?"

"no, thank you."

"i'll be right back." he pressed a kiss to the top of your head, and then he was gone.

the room was deafeningly quiet. intolerably still.

now there was a simple answer. you needed him.

the two minutes it took him to come back felt like twenty, but he eventually came back with two mugs of tea in one hand and a chair from the kitchen table in the other. "here, let me just-" he sent the chair next to yours, tilted so it faced you more than the desk, and paused as he met your eyes. "hm?"

"...can you sit with me?"

it sounded.... so stupid, considering that was his entire plan. but he seemed to understand, nodding seriously and setting the mugs on the desk. "i'm here."

"thank you."

he slid into the chair, tucked one leg up under the other and leaning forwards to take your hand in both of his. "of course."

it was so him, the way he said it. so jason it almost hurt. "of course," like he was commenting on the weather, "of course," like he was pledging his life to you, "of course," like the contradiction he was.

the surge of emotion in your chest was another contradiction: love, gratitude, anger, fear, all at once.

and he saw it, somehow. squeezed your hand gently, giving you an anchor.

"...this sucks."

"i know."

"i'm sorry."

"you have nothing to apologize for."

you gave him a flat look, tears pricking at your eyes.

"do i sound like i'm kidding?"

he did not.

you didn't bother to respond.

"i'm gonna stay right here until you finish this, and then we'll do whatever you want to do. a movie, sleep, whatever. okay?"

another simple answer. "okay."

taste

pairing: matt murdock x fem!reader

summary: matt just wants a taste.

warnings: swearing, explicit sexual content (minors dni)

a/n: it’s thanksgiving here today, and despite my mixed feelings about this holiday, I am thankful for all of y’all. so, here’s a little treat from me to you bc I haven’t shown our favorite human disaster some love in awhile. 🖤

word count: 1.1k

Matt lost track of how long he’d had his head buried between your thighs. Your hair was still damp from your shower earlier, fresh notes of citrus and green apple lingering on the silk sheets. That coupled with the crisp sandalwood of his own cologne from the worn Columbia shirt of his you had stolen to bed intertwined with your own distinct scent lit a fire of desire within him. He’d discarded a layer of his black suit with every silent step he took descending the staircase that led up to the rooftop door.

It had been a bad night, and Matt’s inherent Catholic guilt was at an all time high. So, he positioned himself exactly where he thought he belonged.

On his knees.

Matt held your soft thighs in his rough, calloused hands, his warm tongue lazily tumbling over your swollen clit over and over again. He slipped his tongue through your soaked folds much like he had the first time he had really kissed you; when a sweet kiss good night had ended with your back firmly pressed up against your front door and the two of you panting into each other's mouths.

Angelic pleas for mercy had sounded from your lips in various intervals, but your greedy fingers continued to tug him just a little closer by tight grips on his chestnut strands. Neither one of you seemed to be able to quit the other. Matt’s nose was nuzzled against your public bone, and his plump lips were wrapped around your clit, alternating between suckling languidly at a pace that made your eyes roll into the back of your head and dragging his tongue up and down the length of your entire pussy meticulously.

Every time you let out a desperate chant of his name and rolled your hips up in a needy way in search of more, Matt groaned loudly and moved his own hips in tandem. He had been rutting against the mattress for God only knows how long now, the front of his briefs completely soaked from the weeping slit on the head of his throbbing cock. He’d never been so painfully hard in his life.

But Matt didn’t feel like he had earned a release yet.

Despite the several tangy coats of your arousal on his tongue, he wanted more. He needed just a little more.

Just one more, he told himself, then he’d finally let himself fuck you. But right now, he was exactly where he wanted to be. Face nestled against your pussy, feeling your heartbeat pounding against his welcoming tongue, smelling the scent that was uniquely you right under his nose, hearing the verbal reassurances of how much you needed him, and how badly you wanted him.

Praises of his name and confessions of love slowly lifted the self imposed weight that laid heavy on his chest like cement. If an angel like you believed the Devil deserved Heaven, then maybe he did. You didn’t ask for his penance, but he wanted to give it. He wanted to be worthy of being the man you made him feel like he was.

Matt ignored the ache in his jaw, and he whimpered against your core as his briefs snagged against the sensitive head of his cock just right. He wasn’t gonna last long. Not with the heavenly aroma of you surrounding his senses completely, the sweet sound of your pleasure hitting his ears, the thrum of your impending climax thundering against his tongue.

He never wanted to come up for air. If this was how he was going to die, drowning in the tidal wave of your gratification, then he’d die a happy man.

Matt used his index and middle finger to spread your slicked pussy apart, eagerly swirling his tongue around your pulsing nub before switching to flicking the tip of his tongue back and forth across it like a metronome. God, you were so warm and soft, and so fucking wet. He couldn’t tell where his saliva ended and where your own essence started, but he didn’t fucking care. The only taste he wanted seared into his taste buds was yours anyway.

He delved his tongue as deep within your cunt as he could, fucking you with it sensually while his nose bumped against your overstimulated clit repeatedly. You were close again. He could tell by the hitch in your breaths and the quiver in your soft thighs that were enclosed tightly around his head.

Matt never felt like he deserved you, so he made it his personal mission to make sure he earned you.

As soon as another wave of your candied tang drenched his mouth and dripped down his stubbled chin, Matt exploded with a pathetic whimper, feeling his own sticky warmth coating his lower abdomen and the tops of his thighs. The only reason he pulled his face away from your cunt was because you weakly pushed at his shoulders with your trembling hands.

“Fuckfuckfuck…Matty…I can’t. I-God, I need a minute-“

The breathless pants sounding from your lips were an elegant symphony to his ears. He closed his eyes while resting his head on your smooth thigh, trying to catch his own breath. For several minutes neither of you said anything, just laid there tangled up in the sheets together, basking in the afterglow of pleasure.

All of a sudden, Matt sensed a shift in you. He heard your eyes flutter open, and felt the way you shifted your head off the pillow to peer down at him in curiosity.

“Matty…did…did you-“

“Yeah.”

He didn’t bother hiding it. He wasn’t ashamed. He’d be pissed when the cloud of lust currently fogging up his brain eventually cleared and he realized he ruined yet another set of silk sheets, but right now, he was too satisfied to give a shit about anything other than this moment with you.

A melodic giggle immediately erupted from your chest, and Matt squeezed your thigh teasingly in retaliation which caused you to squeal.

“Hey! I wasn’t making fun of you. It’s actually quite flattering that you enjoy having your head between my thighs so much that you can come from that alone.”

“Sweetheart, you could make me come just by reading our grocery list.”

Another round of angelic giggles fell from your lips, and a quiet whine of disapproval sounded from Matt when he felt you shifting in bed. Much to his dismay, you moved your soft and warm thigh away from under his head, which caused him to purse his plush lips in a pout. But before he could even protest, you were gently pushing him onto his back and brushing your lips against the shell of his ear.

“Maybe I’ll test that theory later, but right now, I’d rather make you come with my mouth in a different way.”

tags: @yarrystyleeza @little-miss-dilf-lover @avengerstower-houseplant @mars-rants-a-lot @topperthornton @hailey-murdock @neverlandcity @charmedkim @queenofthenoobs @stilldreaming666 @mattymurdock1021 @bubuslutty @thyme-in-a-bubble @ninejlovebot @purrrfect @pennylovey @firesunflamed @oscarisaacsleftknee @messymissy @dark-academia-slut @strawberry1042 @utterlynuts